


trainwrecks

by sleeponrooftops



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Angst, F/M, Language, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He senses something, call it desperation.</i>  Brendon Urie was all about stealing hearts and making them hum so fast, but he never expected his own to fall, and for a trainwreck at that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if the tense seems a little weird for a while. I haven’t written in present in legit forever. Also, I don’t really know what’s wrong with this story. Brendon does weird things to my stories. Blame him. Always.
> 
> Oh. And. This fic will be quite fast-paced. I’m not looking to really delve into the relationship that was, rather I’d like to spotlight the relationship that is. You’ll understand by the second scene.

_Friday, February fourth._

_2011._

 

“I fucking hate you,” she growls, chucking a condom at his head.

 

She pulls her black tank top off, the red one underneath following.  He’s just finishing unbuttoning his shirt when he bends down to grab the fallen package.

 

“You’re no piece of pie either, _bitch_ ,” he spits, shimmying out of his tight jeans.

 

She lifts herself onto the sink as her shorts and panties drop to the floor.  Her hightop Converse are still on when he shoves into her and she hooks her legs around him, pushing away from the sink.  He groans, thrusting his hips upward as she moves.  They fall into the wall as he buries his face in her hair.  He wants to bruise her, he wants to make her remember this.

 

“This doesn’t change anything,” she snaps, and he bites her neck, causing a shudder to run through her tight body and a small gasp to escape her lips.

 

“I don’t even know why you came,” he mutters, pulling back to look at her, “no one wants you here.”

 

He’s cut off as she claws at his back, moaning.  He smirks.  He knows _all_ of her weak points.  He slams into her, each thrust hard and purposeful.  He’s beginning to lose his breath, and his mind is swimming with her sounds and her touch.  He has to get away.

 

He pulls her from the wall.

 

“Ground,” he demands, and she detaches herself from around him.

 

He follows her, and their movements are quick and frantic.

 

“I fucking hate you,” he repeats her previous sentiment, “Why did you even bother?”

 

“I don’t know,” she gripes, pausing to sigh as he lifts her legs up so her knees hook around his shoulders and he enters her again, “You’re such an asshole.  You always were.  I hate everything about you.”

 

He shudders, and his heart thuds hard in his chest.  He hits it, and he watches as she squirms and arches, loud moans spilling form her.  He loses himself, and her legs fell back to the ground as he pushes himself forward and sweep her mouth up in a kiss.  She responds immediately, and he moans into her mouth.

 

He misses her.

 

“Brendon, I’m close,” she gasps, nails digging into his shoulders.

 

Her voice is soft, pleading, and he brings her right to the edge, steals a kiss, and pushes her over.  She lets out a shaky, breathy scream, and he buries his face against her delicate skin, and he tenses.

 

“Brendon,” she begs, and he’s gone.

 

He thrusts into her a few last feeble times, gripping her tightly.

 

“Emily,” he gasps out, kissing her shoulder as he lies collapsed on top of her, “Emily, I’m sorry.”

 

He feels her shake before he hears her cry, and he lifts himself up and out of her.  He takes her in his arms, and she sobs, clinging to him.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, holding her closely and letting his eyes close as she calms a little.

 

They sit in silence for a few minutes until she suddenly pushes away from him and rises to her feet.  He watches her in shock, and she’s just stepping into her light denim shorts when he finally gets up and reaches for his briefs.

 

“What the _fuck_ ,” he pauses to pull them on, “are you doing?”

 

“This was wrong,” she says, shaking her head and slipping on her bra, “I never should have come.”

 

“Emily,” he growls, buttoning his jeans, “We can talk about this.”

 

“No, Bren, _we can’t_.  You took everything that was good about us and you stepped on it.  There is _nothing_ between us anymore.”

 

“Then why did you come?” he yells as she pulls on her tank tops and picks up her sweatshirt.

 

“Because I fucking love you.”

 

And she walks right out of his life, for the second time, though, this time, he doesn’t know why.

 

\--

 

_Five years earlier._

_Friday, October thirteenth._

_2006._

Brendon dances around his room, throwing clothes in his suitcase as he goes.  They have two weeks off from touring, and he has a plane ticket to Maine for one week.  He’s to visit his girlfriend of two years and best friend of four while she’s away at college.

 

There’s a soft knock on his door, and Brendon turns to find Spencer standing in the doorway.  He moved into his guest bedroom last year when his parents had angrily kicked him out for joining what they considered to be an abomination.  Brendon called it a family, his band.

 

“When are we leaving?” he asks as Brendon gives him a smile and goes back to his packing.

 

“In an hour, if that’s okay.  My plane leaves at noon, and it takes an hour to get there.”

 

“Coolness.  They’re really letting you stay there for a week?”

 

“I guess Em talked it over with her CAs and stuff, whatever that means.”

 

Spencer just shrugs, going to sit on his bed.  They spend the next hour chatting, and Brendon finishes packing ten minutes before they have to leave for all of his lack of attention span.  His plane ride is boring, and he spends most of it composing a new song.  When he finally touches down in Portland, it’s two hours to Farmington by cab.

 

He listens to Emily’s ringback play in his ear as he patiently waits for her to pick up her cell.  It almost goes to voicemail, but then a squeal pierces through the phone.

 

“Don’t even tell me you’re here!” she exclaims, and he chuckles.

 

“I am.  I just pulled up.  Mallett, right?”

 

But the line had gone dead, and Brendon pays the cabbie before getting out and laughing as Emily bursts through the door in shorts and bare feet.  He catches her in his arms, squeezing her to him tightly, and he breathes her in, sighing.

 

“God, I missed you,” he mumbles as she babbles on about how much she loves him and misses him.

 

“I love you, too.  Let me just get my bags.  Stay there,” he orders when she goes to help, “It’s freezing out.  You shouldn’t even be out here.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” she says, rolling her eyes, but she’s smirking.

 

He pulls out his suitcase and backpack, closes the trunk, and meets Emily with a warm kiss as the cab pulls away.  Emily chatters away as they make their way into the huge building.  Brendon only hears half of what she’s saying, busy looking around.  It’s certainly an old resident hall, and the winding grand staircase opposite the front entrance only makes his smirk widen.  To his left is a large lobby area while mailboxes are to his right.

 

“You just have to check in,” she says, leading him toward a small off to the left of the stairs, “Hey guys,” she continues, waving to two girls inside, “Uhm, this is the guy that’s staying this week.”

 

“Name?” one of them asks, getting up and going to a box.

 

“Brendon Urie.”

 

The other chokes on her bottled water, and Brendon tries to keep his composure.

 

“Like, _the_ Brendon Urie?” she asks, leaning over to look at him.

 

“There may be another one out there; I’m not really sure.  I haven’t checked yet.”

 

“Like, Panic’s Brendon Urie?”

 

“That’s the one,” he confirms, nodding, and, now, the first girl is staring at him.

 

“Okay, thanks, see you guys later,” Emily says, taking him by the elbow and leading him away, “I was afraid that would happen.”

 

Brendon follows Emily into her room, just two down on the left on the first floor.  And it’s totally Em.  She managed to score a single room, mostly because her roommate moved out halfway through the semester to move in with her _fiancé_.  They’d been dating for three weeks when he proposed.  Brendon shakes his head at this thought, remembering how Emily was trying not to laugh when she told him.

 

Her bed is covered in a comforter that has _literally_ every color on it, save for the duller ones like grey and brown.  It looks like a quilt, though he can tell even from the doorway it’s not.  She closes the door behind him, and he turns.  There’s a whiteboard hanging on the back of the door with a week schedule out.  On her wall to the left of the door is a circular grey whiteboard that’s stuck right to the wall and has a to-do list on it; there’s a full length mirror to the right.

 

When he moves in farther, he takes note of her large desk with two shelves of books above it.  He laughs; typical.  Her closet is on the left of the desk, and her dresser is on the right.  A framed poster of the Bridge of Sighs from Venice, Italy sits atop her dresser amongst pyramids of Jac Vanek bracelets, a tower of necklaces and bracelets, and various other cosmetic things.  Her walls are covered in posters of bands, all of Marvel’s characters, a super old Lord of the Rings poster, hand-drawn maps for the worlds she’s created for her books (she’s a Creative Writing major and planning on being an author/editor), and a creative little mess of Jac Vanek’s rules written in sharpie over crumbled pieces of paper and taped overlapping each other and out of order.

 

She has stuffed animals in the corner of her bed, her curtains are hot pink, and her rug is turquoise and shag.  Brendon can’t help but laugh.

 

“What?” she whines, pushing him before taking his backpack and setting it on her circular, matching-turquoise chair, “I like it in here.”

 

“It’s very you,” he compliments, “I miss you.”

 

He leaves his suitcase on the floor before slipping his arms around her and kissing her neck.  Emily smiles up at him before kissing him on the mouth, and Brendon just squeezes her tighter, so happy to be with her again.


	2. Chapter 2

_Saturday, October fourteenth._

_2006._

Brendon startles himself awake, and he starts to sit upright when his arm catches, and he looks down, smiling.  Emily is lying next to him.  She stirs at his movements, mumbling something about going back to sleep as she turns into him and pulls him back down.

 

“It’s too early,” she grumbles, and he allows her to tug him back down, tightening his arm around her.

 

Her skin is bare, her clothes in a heap on the floor.  His own clothes are mixed in with her, and he smiles, closing his eyes.  It had been so long since he’d been inside of her, since he’d been able to hold her close and watch her tremble as he soaked in every ounce of ecstasy etched across her face.  His smile widens; last night was _good_ , really good.

 

It’s an hour before Emily decides it’s time to get up, and she shuts off her alarm exactly two minutes before it goes off.  They get changed into simple clothes around one another, and Brendon misses this.  Before he moved full-time into Spencer’s apartment, he used to live with Emily at hers, though, she went away to college, packed up everything, and left her old apartment behind.  Back when he lived with Emily, he had never been in more bliss.  They had worked as a unit, passing each other deodorant, wearing each other’s socks, showering together, and fighting over the blankets and bed space every night only to wake up laughing or grumbling playfully.  He misses this so much.

 

Emily notices the touch of nostalgia in his eyes, and she leans forward to kiss him before taking his hand.

 

“We can’t shower together, but we can at least shower next to each other,” she says, and she pulls him out of the room.

 

When they return to Emily’s room, she puts on something by Justin Timberlake.

 

“Are you serious?” Brendon pauses in changing his boxers, “Justin?”

 

“New album,” she quips, kissing his shoulder before going to change her panties and bra, and Brendon can’t help but stare as she does, “FutureSexLoveSounds,” she continues, wiggling into her panties, and Brendon frowns as her ass disappears, “Stop staring at me and get dressed.  For Christ’s sake, Bren.”

 

He rolls his eyes as he pulls his boxers on, hiding his slight erection.

 

“I haven’t seen you in a while, oka—”

 

Brendon doesn’t get the rest of his word out as Emily meets him in a bruising kiss, and he barely gets her bra off, _again_ , before they crash onto the bed.  He rips open her nightstand drawer as she nips at his neck and leaves open-mouthed, wet kisses all over his shoulders.

 

“Fuck,” he hisses, ripping the package open and snatching the condom out.

 

“Mm, Brendon,” she purrs in his ear, and he moans as she sucks on the bottom of his lobe.

 

He busies himself, lifts Emily’s legs up so that her knees hook around the inside of his elbows, and he pushes into her, eliciting a staggering moan from the arching woman underneath him.  It’s quick and dirty, full of throaty moans and cuss words.  Brendon is seeing stars when he drops onto his side, Emily rolling with him, and he pounds into her quickly.  He buries his face in her hair, panting, and Emily pulls her black nails up his back.  He shudders, tenses, and bites her shoulder, his thrusts falling away almost instantly.  He pushes a few last times, shaking, before finally collapsing, spent, and heart pounding.

 

“Wow,” she breathes against him, “That was… _awesome_.”

 

Brendon laughs, kisses her on the mouth, and then nudges her shoulder.  They roll back together, and he pulls out of her, smirking.

 

“I missed you,” he says with a little laugh, and she just nods, agreeing.

 

They go back to dressing, smiling and working around one another, and Brendon can’t even believe how elated he feels.  He hates it even more that he has to go back in just a week.  He wants to spend forever with his girl.  Brendon dresses in his “stupid cowboy shirt”, shaking his head as Emily kisses him.

 

“You need spurs,” she comments, pinching his side before going to pull on her shoes.

 

It’s just a plaid white and brown shirt, though it does have that cowboy-feel in that it has a large brown section that crosses over the top of his torso.  But whatever, he likes it, and it’s button-up.  He feels classy.  Emily’s wearing a super tight white tank top that has pink, yellow, and blue floral designs, a mesh cotton cardigan _thing_ , and blue and white striped what-looks-like-corduroy pant _things_.  Brendon has, honestly, no idea where she finds her clothes, but she always looks hot, so he doesn’t care.

 

They talk about the tour, the album, his rising fame, college, her classes, and her new friends as they make their way to the dining hall where Emily waves to a table and leads Brendon over.

 

“Katie, Hunter, Jason, Dan, and Ally, this is Brendon.  Brendon, this is everyone.”

 

He waves, and takes Emily’s hint as she leaves her sweatshirt on a seat.  He takes the one next to her, and he almost laughs as he realizes the Hunter kid is staring at him.

 

“So, Panic fans?”

 

“Hunter, Katie, and Ally, yea.  They’ll stare for a while, but Katie is used to it.  She’s friends with her friend’s band, and they’re just getting out there, so she understands.”

 

“Cool, cool.”

 

Brendon tosses a look over his shoulder; still staring.  He grabs something that looks rather delicious, and Emily gets the same, and he _thinks_ it’s meat.

 

“Veal,” she answers, and he nods.

 

They get pasta, corn, and drinks, too, before going back to join everyone, and Brendon remains mostly silent, just observing everyone.  Emily looks so out of place amongst them; every single one of them is a brunette, though Katie’s _is_ darker than the rest.  Emily, though, Emily has flaming red hair the color of a crayon or a fire truck, curls that tumble down to nearly her waist, and these dangerous bangs that are so swept, Brendon doesn’t even understand how they exist sometimes.  Other than that, though, he can see why she fits in.

 

Hunter and Katie both have their lips pierced while Jason has his eyebrow pierced, and Dan looks worthy of a metal-head lumberjack.  The only one that doesn’t really seem to fit is Ally, though Brendon assumes she’s Dan’s girlfriend by the way she sits so close and finishes everything he says.  Emily, however, has both sides of her nose pierced, and she typically wears a ring in each.  Along with those, she has her tongue pierced, three earrings on her left ear, and two on her right.  She’s kind of crazy with her jewelry, which Brendon always laughs about, considering she wears inane amounts of rings, though she only wears one necklace, which he gave to her on their two year anniversary, and a few bracelets (a Tiffany from her mom, a Pandora, and little hand-made ones).

 

“—Ryan?” he hears, and he pulls himself from his thoughts, turning his gaze to Emily.

 

“Huh?”

 

“How is Ryan?”

 

“Ross?” he asks, and she rolls her eyes.

 

“Yes, Ross, dumbass.  Is he any better?”

 

“Uh,” he pauses, laughing, “Not _really_?  Spence took him out to a strip club the other day.  He almost fell over.”

 

Emily nearly snorts into a laugh, and Brendon leans over to kiss her on the cheek, smirking.  Things couldn’t be better.

 

\--

 

_Wednesday, February fourteenth._

_2007._

Brendon felt like he totally should have seen it coming.

 

He’s lounging on the stage before their show, dressed in only tight jeans; his feet and torso are bare.  He hears footsteps approaching, but he doesn’t see anyone until Ryan’s face looms over him a few minutes later.

 

“Hey man, what’s up?” he says with a small smile.

 

Ryan lies down next to him, a little too close, and Brendon bites back his sigh.  Sometimes, Ryan just makes him feel so guilty.  Back when they’d first met, when he and Em weren’t dating quite yet, he remembers Ryan taking him into his room after practice that very first time, after there had been such electricity between them, and he remembers, clear as day, Ryan stealing this beautiful and heart-wrenching kiss from him.  And Brendon took him right there and then, and Ryan was as complying as he has been since that day, but they’ve never touched like that, never been so one like that, since that day.  Because he and Emily started dating a week later before their second band practice together.

 

And now here they are, and Ryan always sits too close, lies too close, _is_ too close.  Sometimes Brendon just wants to shake him and tell him to go away, but he loves Ryan, and he can’t do that.

 

“What’re you up to, man?”

 

“Not much,” Ryan mumbles, his breath tickling Brendon’s bare arms, which are folded underneath his head, “Just hanging out.  I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

 

“I’ve been around,” he offers, shrugging.

 

Truthfully, he’s been trying to give Ryan some space.  He doesn’t want to overwhelm him.  They talk for a little bit, and Brendon kind of loses himself, opening up to someone he considers his best friend but someone he’s afraid to be too himself around.  But Ryan’s always been able to pry him open, always been able to make him feel so comfortable and so at ease.  So when Brendon feels a fluttering kiss touch his upper arm, he barely even takes note of it.  This is Ryan.  It’s just Ryan.

 

Brendon finally realizes what the hell is going on when Ryan touches a sensitive spot, and he sits up, smacking into Ryan’s face as he goes, and the guitarist grunts and falls onto his back.

 

“Fuck, Bren,” he mumbles angrily, propping himself up on one elbow and rubbing his face, “That hurt.”

 

“What are you doing?” he turns on Ryan, eyes narrowed, “What are you playing at?”

 

“It’s V-V-Valentine’s Day,” he stutters, suddenly embarrassed, and Brendon mentally curses himself.

 

He has no control, and he lunges forward at Ryan’s teasing pout, biting his lip in the process and pulling a moan right out of the back of his throat. 

 

“Will you fuck me?” Ryan asks softly, and Brendon almost bursts right out of his pants.

 

“Yes,” he says, eyes dark and chest already heavy; he misses Emily so much.

 

Ryan smirks, takes his hand, and pulls him up off the stage.  Brendon follows him, and his brain starts working too late because Ryan has already snapped a door shut, closing them into darkness in a tiny room, and he’s about to protest and apologize when the button on his jeans pops, and he’s not wearing briefs today.

 

“Slut,” Ryan mutters before dropping to his knees and taking Brendon in his mouth.

 

The dark-haired singer bites his lip and moans; _fuck_.  He barely even notices Ryan clumsily prepping his own entrance, all he’s focused on is the thin, pouty lips swelling around his hard cock and the tongue flicking around him.  God, he misses Emily.

 

“Ryan,” he says as the guitarist stands, pushes Brendon away from the wall and steps in front of him, back to him.

 

“Just forget her.  Fuck me,” he demands, and Brendon blinks; he can’t.

 

“Ryan, I’m sorry,” he tries, backing into the opposite wall.

 

“Oh my God, Bren,” he bites, “ _Come on_.”

 

“Ryan, I can’t.  Emily,” he says, shaking his head and moving to tuck himself away, “I’m so sorry.  I never should have kissed you.”

 

“For fuck’s sake,” Ryan grumbles, and Brendon grunts as he slams him into the wall, kissing him sloppily.

 

The blood has rushed away from his brain, and he finds it hard to react in time as Ryan’s mouth distracts him, and he just wants to get off so badly.  He rocks into Ryan’s hand, his nimble fingers wrapped around Brendon, and he groans in protest as Ryan steps away.

 

“Fuck me,” he orders, and Brendon doesn’t even think twice.

 

He nearly lifts Ryan right off his feet as he pushes into him, and he moans so loud, sinking his teeth into the back of Ryan’s shoulder.

 

“Oh my God, you’re so tight,” Brendon shudders, gripping Ryan’s wrists, whose hands are pressed against the wall.

 

“If you’d just forget that bitch, I wouldn’t be,” he snaps, grinding down into Brendon’s hips, and the singer let out a guttural grunt of anger, slamming back into Ryan.

 

“She’s not a bitch,” he says through gritted teeth, but his hips have betrayed him.

 

He loves how Ryan feels, and he’s brought right back to that first time after practice, the very first time he’d ever touched another boy, the very first time he’d ever felt so in love.

 

But this isn’t that Ryan.  This Ryan is angry and aggressive.  He demands, and he yanks Brendon’s fingers away from his wrist, forcing him to stroke him in time with his thrusts.

 

“Faster,” he says, short and detached.

 

Brendon complies, and he can feel Ryan shaking against him, and he wants to hurt him.  Suddenly, Brendon is pissed the fuck off, and he wants Ryan to stagger when he walks.  He blinks, and he frowns.  Wasn’t this same man in front of him just nearly crying because it was Valentine’s Day and he just wanted a kiss?

 

“What the fuck,” Brendon says aloud, and Ryan grunts.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re such an asshole.”

 

“Hello kettle.”

 

Brendon shuts him up as he shoves his hips harder; he wants this to hurt so bad.  But Ryan is a masochist, and he moans,  head dropping onto Brendon’s shoulder, and he staggers in his anger; he remembers this Ryan.  He remembers Ryan arching underneath him and moaning his name, he remembers being terrified, at seventeen, fumbling and not knowing what to do, he remembers finally exploding into Ryan, shaking and nearly crying, and he remembers cuddling after, how sweet and careful Ryan was with him, even though he was in so much pain.

 

“ _Bren_ ,” he purrs, and Brendon trips a little, coming fast and hard inside of Ryan.

 

Ryan almost instantly responds, grabbing Brendon’s wrist, and he shakes and sighs as he finishes.  They stand there for a few minutes, relaxed against the wall, until Brendon feels tears prick the corners of his eyes, and he isn’t gentle or slow when he pulls out of Ryan and shoves away from him.

 

“I hate you,” he stutters, searching in the blinding darkness for his jeans.

 

He finally finds his feet, grabs the hem of his pants, and he pulls them up as Ryan is turning around, a smirk on his face and his arms crossed.

 

“No, you don’t,” he laughs, humorlessly, and Brendon really thinks he’s going to cry.

 

He hurriedly buttons his jeans, and he’s about to leave when Ryan grabs his arm.

 

“Baby,” he coos, “What’s wrong?”

 

Brendon’s mind reels, and he wants to hit Ryan as much as he wants to collapse into his arms.

 

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snaps, trying to twist out of his grip, but Ryan just tightens it.

 

“Hey, where are you going?  Is everything okay?  Why do you look so sad?  Did you not want that?  You could have said so.”

 

“You’re a fucking two-faced liar,” Brendon spits, literally, before pushing Ryan away and storming out of the room, not even bothering to close the door.

 

He doesn’t care who sees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying so far. And look at that! Our first real taste of Ryden, woo. So yea, I know it’s not exactly ideal, but this story isn’t really going to be. It’s very dark, and there’s a lot of angst. Oh joy. And, if you were wondering, I’m about ten chapters deep in this right now and still writing away, :) Thank you for reading, and don’t forget to comment!


	3. Chapter 3

Brendon has always been a horrible liar.

 

He’s currently pacing around the van after their show, his makeup and clothes from that night still intact.  He’s sweating and panting because he ran right off stage, ignored everyone, and just sprinted outside.  He couldn’t stand to be inside and near Ryan any longer.  His eyes are hot now, and he welcomes the biting air to keep away his emotions.  He can’t even stand himself.

 

His hands are curled into fists, and he circles the van, footfalls heavy and a permanent frown on his mouth.  Spencer finds him after a little while, and he’s looking a little more than worried as he approaches.

 

“Hey man,” he greets, stepping into Brendon’s pathway and causing the singer to careen to a halt.

 

“You’re in my way,” Brendon snaps, but Spencer just puts two hands on his shoulders and steers him away from the van.

 

They sit a few yards away from it, facing each other, and Brendon finally falls apart, trembling.

 

“Ryan said something happened between you two,” Spencer says, looking down at his hands in his lap, “Did you, uhm… did you have sex with him?”

 

Brendon nods, and he can’t breathe.

 

“I need to call Emily.”

 

“Fucker, you’re gonna tell her, aren’t you?  Just like that time in ’04?  Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

 

“It’ll eat me away otherwise,” Brendon groans, doubling over, and Spencer nods.

 

They sit in silence for a good half hour, Brendon’s subsiding tears the only thing that fills them.  Finally, though, he looks up, and Spencer hands him a towel that he brought along just in case.  Brendon thanks him softly before wiping his nose.

 

He sighs, “I know you don’t really get it, but I’m gonna go insane.”

 

“Go ahead,” Spencer says quietly, nodding.

 

He’s always been the middle man between the two, always been the one to calm Ryan down and talk him out of going after Brendon.  Ever since that first band practice, he’s held him at bay because he knows how weak Brendon can be, but he also knows how crazily in love he is with Emily.

 

“He’s such a fucking douche,” Brendon spits, shaking his head, “One second he’s batting away his eyelashes and, God, you know, he reminds me of Beckett.”

 

Spencer snorts, and Brendon looks up, and they both fall into hysterical bouts of laughter.  When they finally finish, they’re lying next to each other, and Spencer lights a cigarette.  He doesn’t smoke a lot, but he keeps them around for when he’s really freaking out or stressed out.  Brendon never smokes, but he likes to have the occasional one with Spencer when he’s offering.  They pass it back and forth, and Brendon lets the story unfold.

 

“I’ve been trying to kind of keep my distance lately because he’s been really clingy, but then we just started talking before the show, and he was kissing my, like, arms and chest and shit, and I didn’t really notice because it’s Ryan, y’know, and I’m just used to him, and he’s so comfortable, but then it hit me, and I sat up, and I hit him in the face on accident.  So then I’m like, what the fuck, and he looks like he’s about to cry, and he tells me it’s Valentine’s Day, and I just… I just couldn’t control myself,” he finishes softly, “I kissed him, and I miss Emily so much, and I wasn’t thinking, and he asked me to fuck him, and I said yes, and—” Brendon breaks off, sighing, and he has to bite his lip for a little bit to hold himself together, “And he brought me into this tiny room, and, well, I won’t go into detail, but he was such a jackass.  I’ve never seen him like that.  He was just so rude and aggressive, and I thought he was going to hit me.  It was fucking scary.”

 

“Did you even _try_ to leave?” Spencer asks, and Brendon flinches at how frustrated he sounds.

 

“I did.  I seriously did.  I told him I was so sorry, but I just couldn’t do this, and I should have never kissed him, and I tried to leave, and he fucking _shoved_ me into the wall and pinned me there.”

 

Spencer blinks, and Brendon sighs.  He hates talking about Ryan like this, especially to his best friend.

 

“I’m sorry, Spence,” he mumbles, “I hate to dump this on you.”

 

“I think you should call Em, if it’s really going to bother you.  I know how you are.  You’ll just explode one day, and it’ll suck, and things will go a lot worse than if you tell her right now.”

 

“You think?”

 

“I don’t know, honestly.  Things could go to shit for all I know.  But, Bren, look at it this way, you told Emily the freaking second after you left Ryan’s house those two years ago, and she still asked you out a week later.  She knows you.”

 

Brendon just nods, and the two friends lay there for a little longer until he finally decides he can’t wait any longer, and he gets up, thanks Spencer, and leaves to go wander around the parking lot while he talks to Emily.

 

\--

 

Emily hangs up her phone just as someone knocks on her door.  She goes to answer it, and Katie frowns as she takes in her frustrated expression.

 

“Is everything okay?” she asks as Emily leans against the door.

 

“No.  Can you promise to keep a secret?”

 

“Yea, absolutely.”

 

Emily lets her in, and she quickly scribbles a _go the fuck away, busy_ on the whiteboard on the outside of her door before locking it and going to sit on her bed.  Katie takes the seat at her desk, and Emily sighs, palming her face.

 

“So.  Two years ago, Brendon joined Panic.”

 

“I’m aware,” Katie says with a nod.

 

“Well, we were friends back then.  We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember.  We were nearly dating at the time, though we hadn’t actually asked one another out or claimed any titles or anything.  So, I’m at home, and Brendon was at his first ever Panic band practice.  It was basically an introductory type of thing cos he’d already tried out, but he was there for a good while and, just, all of a sudden he was banging down my door.  So, I go to let him in, and I was in the apartment by then, and he’s hysterical, sobbing uncontrollably.  He was fumbling all over his words, and he barely managed to get through the door.  He, uhm, he slept with Ryan.”

 

Katie’s jaw drops, and Emily nods, her frown deepening.

 

“Ryan is a real fucker sometimes,” she continues, “He’s tried to play me before, but I can’t stand him.  He acts all sweet, and the second he gets you alone, he tries to put a move on you and he’s aggressive as fuck, and he’s so rude and pushy and angry.  He’s just an ass.  But Brendon, Brendon’s always had a thing for him, and he just fell right for him.”

 

“Their _first_ band practice?  For legit?”

 

“Yea.”

 

“Okay…”

 

“Well,” Emily continues, and she has to look away, her eyes hot with tears that she’s forced away her entire three-hour conversation with Brendon, “He did it again.”

 

“When?”

 

“Tonight.”

 

A too-heavy silence fills the room, and Emily feels like she’s suffocating.  She picks up the Build-a-Bear Brendon made her last year, dressed to look like him, and she holds it to her tightly, trying to steady her breathing.

 

“Did you break up with him?” Katie finally asks, and she looks shocked when Emily shakes her head.

 

“The week after I found about him and Ryan, I asked him out.  We talked about it for a long time, and I even talked about it with Spencer.  Brendon just has a really hard time with Ryan, and I know why.  Ryan is so deceptive, and he’s really easy to be comfortable with and fall into.  And I guess he pulled the whole _it’s Valentine’s Day, and I just wanted one kiss_ thing, and Brendon totally succumbed.  He kept telling me all he could think about how much he missed me.  And I guess he tried to leave because, well, Ryan took him into this dark room, and his brain caught up, I guess, like, before they did anything, and he started to leave, but Ryan basically pinned him to the wall and forced himself upon Bren.”

 

“He _raped_ him?” Katie gasps.

 

“No, no, no,” Emily quickly negates, shaking her head fervently and looking up, “Ryan _always_ bottoms.  He refuses to do it any other way.  But Brendon’s really torn up about it, obviously, but… I just… I can’t.”

 

Another silence falls, and this one isn’t as tense as the other, and this one allows Emily to think a little.

 

“I love him, Katie,” she finally sighs, “I really do, and I think part of the reason I’m not overly mad at him is because I get why he did it, I understand how Ryan is.”

 

“What if he does it again?”

 

“Then fuck him.”

 

“I guess that makes sense.  It’s like a second chance, but he can’t fuck up again.”

 

“No.”

 

After a while, they trail off onto different topics, and Emily’s so grateful for Katie.  She distracts her, and they’re laughing in no time, wasting their night away with terrible B-level horror movies, crazy dance music, and writing Harry Potter fanfiction.


	4. Chapter 4

_Monday, February nineteenth._

_2007._

Brendon sighs, climbing into the driver’s seat.  It’s way too early in the morning, and he was woken by a sleepy Jon to take the wheel.  He’s been on the road now for an hour, but he doesn’t mind too much.  His phone vibrates, catching his attention, and he flips open his Sidekick, flicking his eyes between the road and the text.

 

_just wondering if you’re up.  we have a snow day tomorrow.  i love you._

His smile is wide as he hits speed dial two, and Emily answers almost instantly.

 

“Wow, you are up,” she laughs, and he’s filled with joy at her voice.

 

“Jon was getting tired and asked me to drive.  Why are you up so late?  It’s past two in the morning.”

 

“Snow day, and I don’t feel like going to sleep.  I miss you.”

 

“I miss you, too, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to barely a whisper; he’s been pining for her lately, and it’s starting to get hard without seeing her every day.

 

“We’ll be together soon, though.  When do you guys stop touring?”

 

“We’re taking a month break in April, but then we’re back on the road from May to September before we go into the studio.”

 

“New album in ’08?”

 

“Should be.  What’re you up to?”

 

Emily says something, but whoever’s in the passenger seat is waking up, and Brendon glances over, heart sinking as he realizes it’s Ryan.  They haven’t really spoken since their little rendezvous, and, though Ryan has desperately tried to steal Brendon away again, he firmly refuses him everytime.

 

“I’m sorry, baby, what?” he says when Emily calls his name.

 

“It’s okay.  I just said that I was doing some writing and reading, though I may do a late night yoga in a bit.”

 

“Wish I were there to watch.”

 

“Hey Bren,” Ryan says from the passenger seat as he rubs his eyes, but Brendon ignores him.

 

“Is it already snowing there?”

 

“It’s been snowing since this morning, ugh.  I feel like we’re never going to get out of it.”

 

“Well, make sure you keep safe and warm.”

 

“I will, don’t worry.  How’s the weather wherever you are?”

 

“Dark,” he laughs, and he can practically hear Emily shake her head.

 

“Huh, two am,” Ryan mumbles, “Who’re you talking to?”

 

But Brendon steadfastly ignores him, still.  Ryan sighs and leans over, but one jerk of the wheel sends him tumbling back into his seat.  No one wakes from the back, thankfully, though Ryan is glaring hatefully at him.

 

“Oh.  Fuck,” Emily says, catching Brendon’s attention.

  
“Is everything okay?”

 

“I think the power just went out.  Everything just stopped.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Like, my lights went out, my clock is off, and my music shut off.  Hold on.”

 

“Use your lantern.  Ryan, what the fuck?” he adds, putting the phone to his shoulder as Ryan scoots back over, “Go away.”

 

“Is that Emily?” he asks, arching an eyebrow, and Brendon turns his eyes back to the road, lifting the phone to his ear again.

 

“Yea, the flood lights are on in the halls.  Guess I’m not writing anymore.  Boo.  Well, I don’t want to—”

 

“Ryan, get the fuck away!” Brendon cuts her off as Ryan’s hand suddenly slides over his thigh.

 

“ _Bren_ ,” he whines, “Why do you hate me now?”

 

“I don’t fucking hate you, you’re just being a prick,” he reminds, “Please fuck off.”

 

“Right here?  Will that turn you on?”

 

“Fuck you, Ryan.  I’m sorry, Em.”

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Her voice is steely, and he frowns; he hates that she’s so guarded now.

 

“He’s just being an asshole.  Don’t worry.  He stopped.  Do you want me to let you go?”

 

“I just don’t want my phone to die in case something happens, but if you want me to stay on the phone with you, I will.”

 

Brendon’s mouth sets in a firm line, and he wants to hit Ryan so bad; it’s his fault Emily doesn’t trust him anymore.

 

“No, it’s okay.  I can handle him.”

 

“Keep your head.  I love you.”

 

“I love you so much.  Text me with any updates.”

 

They hang up, and Brendon turns his gaze to glare at Ryan, and he almost crashes.  The guitarist has his tight pants down around his knees and is stroking himself quickly, eyes fixed on Brendon.  Gritting his teeth, Brendon calmly pulls over, shuts off the car, and gets out, slamming the door behind him.  He storms away, pocketing the keys as he goes.  He gets a good distance from the car when he hears another door open and close.  He looks back, but it’s too dark to recognize the figure walking toward him, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets.  He turns away again, crossing his arms, and he looks out onto the empty road, and he just wants to beat the shit out of Ryan.

 

“Baby, I’m sorry,” a voice suddenly purrs in his ear, and he jumps as a pair of slender arms twist around his waist.

 

“Go away, Ry,” he snaps, shoving the older man away from him and starting to walk farther away.

 

“Brendon,” he says, and his voice is a little harder.

 

Brendon turns, eyes narrowed, “What the fuck do you want?”

 

“You.”

 

“You can’t have me.  When the hell are you going to realize that?”

 

“Yes, I can,” Ryan mutters, and Brendon sighs as his fingers curl around his wrist.

 

“Just stop, Ryan,” he grumbles, trying to pull apart his fingers, but he just tightens his grip and spins Brendon to face him.

 

“You were mine _first_ ,” he reminds, “I gave you all of me.  You can’t just tell me that was nothing.”

 

“I told you I was _sorry_ , Ryan.  I love Emily.”

 

“You love me.”

 

“Fuck, Ryan.  Of course I do, but I’m in love with Emily.”

 

Brendon gasps as Ryan suddenly shoves him, and his foot catches on a rock, sending him tumbling.  He’s about to say something and scramble up when Ryan follows him, straddling his waist.

 

“Just accept me, Brendon,” he pleads, tone soft again.

 

Brendon hates this, hates it so much when he plays with his head like this.

 

“Leave me alone, Ryan,” he begs, and, to his surprise, Ryan gets up, glares at him, and stalks off.

 

\--

 

_Friday, April thirteenth._

_2007._

“Hey, Spence, thank you _so_ much for letting me crash here for the week,” Emily murmurs, leaning forward to hook her arms around his neck and kiss him on the cheek.

 

Instead of a two-week break in March, Emily got one week in February and one week in April, and so she’d be staying at Spencer’s for the week instead of staying alone up in Farmington while the rest of her friends went home.

 

“Yea, no problem.  You two need any help unpacking?”

 

“Nah, Bren’s got the other one.”

 

She heads into the hall that leads to the two bedrooms, bathroom, and study, taking the second door as instructed.  She’s just starting to unpack when Brendon follows her in, dumping her other suitcase on his bed.

 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he murmurs, going to curl his arms around her waist and smiling brightly, “I’ve missed you so damn much.”

 

“I have, too, darling,” she whispers, turning in his arms and hugging him tightly, “I’m coming on tour with you this summer, decidedly,” she mumbles into the crook of his neck, and Brendon just laughs, nodding.

 

“I’d love that, though the van is quite small.”

 

“I don’t care.  I miss you.”

 

“Okay.  You can come.”

 

And they stayed like that for a few minutes, just wrapped in each other’s arms, finally one.

 

\--

 

_Sunday, April fifteenth._

_2007._

One of the things Brendon loves most is how small Emily is.  Considering he’s only five eight, it amazed him when he realized that Emily was a good six inches shorter than him at five two.  She’s so petite and adorable, and he loves that more than anything.  He also loves that he can loom over her a little, her legs hitched around his ribcage, and he can kiss, lick, bite, suck, and attack her neck easily.

 

Brendon’s currently buried deep inside Emily, rocking into her slowly and hard, and her body is trembling against his, and he loves nothing more than the pure look of lust she sends him, the glimmer of ecstasy that touches her beautiful face everytime he causes her to orgasm.

 

“Brendon,” she practically purrs, nails trailing down his back rather roughly, and he smirks, picking up his pace a little.

 

He loves how Emily feels, loves how she makes him feel.  And, as he smirks, Emily’s eyes glint mischief.  He pushes her hands back, holding her wrists, and he skips into a wild, frantic beat, and her hips arch into him, and he moans, eyes fluttering closed.

 

“Fuck, Em,” he gasps, head dropping a little.

 

“Are you close, baby?” she coos, and he shudders a little.

 

“Fucking real close,” he pants, and she leans up, giving him a few small bites along his shoulders, nails scratching delicately up him, and he moans suddenly, a loud, husky sound that causes Emily to arch an eyebrow.

 

He drops them back down, and his entire body shakes as he pushes into her hard, and another strangled noise rips from the back of his throat, and Emily smiles, eyes closing at this.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps, collapsed on top of her.

 

They stay like that for a little while, catching their breath, and it’s not until Brendon finally decides to slowly pull out and toss away the condom that Emily catches him in a kiss.

 

“I love you,” she whispers, chaste and smiling.

 

“I love you so much, Emily,” he promises back, kissing her again, “Did you know that?”

 

She nods and pulls him toward her, curling close to him.

 

“I want to love you forever.”

 

“I’m definitely okay with that.”

 

For the next hour or so, they stay like that, wrapped together, small chatter flitting between them every so often.  It’s not until noon that Brendon’s stomach finally grumbles and he whines his way out of bed, Emily following him.  They quickly dress, Emily in his “stupid cowboy shirt” (which he makes fun of her for the entire way out of his room) and small shorts, and Brendon in boxers and plaid pajama pants.  Together, they make hot pasta salad, and they eat in the living room while watching _Neverending Story_.

 

When Spencer finally returns at three in the afternoon, they’re well into _Neverending Story 2_ , and Ryan is trailing after his friend.

 

“Hey guys, what’s up?”

 

“Not much,” Brendon returns, not looking up.

 

He’s currently on his back, Emily lying between his legs and with her head on his chest.

 

“Did you scrounge up some food for lunch?”

 

“Yea, we polished off your pasta.  I can run out and grab you some more before dinner, though.”

 

“Nah, it’s cool, Ryan and I went shopping.”

 

“Hey, Ry,” Brendon gives a small wave.

 

After their talk that chilly morning in February, Ryan had finally started to relent, and he barely hit on Brendon anymore, for which both Brendon and Emily were quite glad for.  In fact, he and Ryan were quite close to the way they used to be: best friends.  Emily still felt a little hostile toward him, but it was understandable.

 

When the movie finally ends, Emily gives Brendon a happy kiss and stretches before standing up.  He flicks through the channels as she does her morning yoga by the window, soaking in the sunlight.  Brendon settles for SpongeBob, though most of his attention is focused on his beautiful girlfriend.

 

Brendon looks up when Spencer lifts his legs and sits underneath them, a bagel in one hand and a coffee in the other.  They watch SpongeBob together, and Ryan eventually joins them.  Emily is just finishing nearly an hour later when Spencer’s cell phone goes off.

 

“ _What_?” he whines as he puts it on speaker.

 

“I’m _bored_ ,” Jon whines back, and Brendon snickers, “Also, I’ve gone blind.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“For some reason, I crashed at Beckett’s last night, and I went downstairs to get breakfast for lunch, and he and Saporta were fucking against the kitchen counter.”

 

All three boys howl in laughter, but Emily just shakes her head and goes to get dressed.  She doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation as she goes into Brendon’s room.  She’s supposed to be going out with Katie and her two friends in a little bit, and she’s just unbuttoning Brendon’s shirt when its owner walks in.  He sits on the bed as she slowly gets dressed, crossing his legs underneath him and smiling at her.

 

“So, Beckett has invited us to a party at Gabe’s house tonight.  D’you wanna go?”

 

“Are you going to drink?”

 

“Probably,” he says with a shrug.

 

“As long as you don’t end up drunk.”

 

It’s tense for a second, and Brendon frowns.  Last time he had taken Emily to an FBR party, he’d been stupid enough to drink too much and find himself squished in between Ryan and William Beckett on the dance floor.  As was common with Bill and Gabe Saporta, Beckett had had a crush on Brendon and was desperate to try him out in bed.  Quite a few people on the label, in fact, felt the same, though Beckett and Saporta had always been forward about who they wanted.

 

“Em, I promise I won’t.  Pinky promise.”

 

Emily smiles, and she kisses him, hooking her pinky around his.

 

“Can I invite Katie and her two friends?”

 

“Yea, I’m sure that’s fine.  Lemme just text Bill.”

 

They laze around for a while, Emily slowly but surely getting dressed.  She can’t help but feel like she’s on a cloud the entire two hours they spend in his room, just the two of them.  She adores being able to be so simple with him, and she feels so utterly connected and in love with him in this moment.  They lay on his bed in the sun, they kiss chastely and lovingly, and they are so fused to one another.  It makes her heart swell.

 

Eventually, she leaves to hang out with Katie, Sierra Kusterbeck, and Blake Harnage.  They’re her friends in a band, and they’re nice enough.  When Katie picks her up, however, Sierra is all star struck, and Emily sighs.  She sometimes wants to punch the boys, especially when they bring her out onstage and introduce her and make her guest sing.

 

“So, where are we headed?” Emily asks, grinning as her phone vibrates in her pocket.

 

Whatever Katie says is lost as Emily reads the test.

 

_baaaaaaaaaaaaaby.  i wish you didn’t leave.  i was so enjoying you._

_oh, were you?_ she types back, _go hang out with your boys.  i’ll be back soon enough._

_poop.  so how’s her friends?_

_i just met them!_

_yea, and?_

_sigh.  sierra’s pretty, i’ll have to distract you from her, and i think katie might giggle her way right out of the car compliments of blake.  it’s annoying._

_kick the back of her seat._

_:D_

And that was the end of their conversation for quite some time.  Brendon’s left to lounge around, floating between his friends in the living room and his guitar in his bedroom.  Eventually, words start mucking around in his brain, and he goes to his guitar, humming out a tune and piecing the words together.  It isn’t long before comes knocking, instrument in hand.

 

“Can I hear?” he asks politely, sitting next to Brendon.

 

He nods, fingers switching back to the opening notes.

 

“ _If all our is but a dream,_

_Fantastic posing greed,_

_Then we should feed our jewelry to the sea,_

_For diamonds do appear to be,_

_Just like broken glass to me._

_And then she said she can’t believe,_

_Genius only comes along,_

_It storms of fabled foreign tongues,_

_Tripping eyes, and flooded lungs,_

_Northern downpour sends its love._

_Hey moon, please forget to fall down,_

_Hey moon, don’t you go down._

_Sugarcane in the easy morning,_

_Weathervanes my one and lonely._

 

That’s all I’ve got so far,” Brendon finishes with a shrug, and Ryan just smiles before picking up the chord progression.

 

Together, he and Ryan fool around with this baby song for a few hours until Emily returns, and Brendon’s face brightens when she walks in.

 

“I wrote a song about you, kid of.  Wanna hear some of it?” he mumbles shyly.

 

He barely even notices Ryan slipping away, frowning.


	5. Chapter 5

Brendon’s pretty sure Emily looks sinful that night at the party.  She’s wearing these tiny frayed denim shorts with a long purple shirt over it.  The front practically covers her shorts, though the back is ripped into barely-there strands that connect the two sides of the shirt.  And she’s got on these boots, all black, and they go up to her mid-shin with super thin, high heels and chains that wrap around them four times.  He’s pretty sure he’s never been so turned on in his life.

 

She’s currently talking to Pete Wentz about something or other, but Brendon can barely take his eyes off her.  Sierra was pretty like she said, but he’s glued to her, and nothing is going to faze him.  Except, well, Ryan Ross.

 

“Hey, wanna dance?” Ryan asks, stopping in front of Brendon.

 

There’s a PCD song playing, and Brendon laughs softly; of course.  He shrugs, and he follows Ryan onto the dance floor, not noticing Emily’s eyes following him.  Despite Ryan grinding into him, it’s innocent, and there are no hidden intentions in his actions.  However, Brendon’s a little harder because of it, and it doesn’t help that Emily stalks right up to him as Ryan leaves and tugs him into the middle of the floor, kissing him passionately.

 

And they dance the next few songs away, and Brendon’s feeling dizzy from the aching in his pants.  He feels like he’s at a middle school dance, however, as Emily finally steps away, leaves him with a peck on the cheek, and he groans, watching her walk away.  She’s testing him, and he knows it, and he deserves it.

 

The night continues to wane on, and Emily laughs as Sierra flops into the seat next to her.

 

“This place is crazy,” she gasps, scooting closer to Emily as Katie sits next to her, “Like, is everyone fucking everyone?”

 

“Essentially.  It’s FBR,” is the only explanation Emily offers before something catches her eye.

 

Brendon and Ryan are dancing.  _Again_.

 

“I’d say he’s starting to ruin his second chance,” Katie murmurs, and Emily just glares at her boyfriend.

 

Her brow creases, however, as Brendon suddenly stiffens, straightening away from Ryan.  The guitarist turns and shoots him a questioning look to which Brendon shoves him and starts to stalk off only to have Ryan snake his hand around his wrist and pull him back toward him.  Emily watches Brendon trip a little, and her blood boils as Ryan’s mouth collides with Brendon’s.  She doesn’t move, though Brendon shocks her when he pushes Ryan so hard that he crashes against the wall, and Brendon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, spitting at Ryan’s feet.  He looks like he’s about to turn away after snarling something particularly nasty at Ryan when the older man vaults onto his feet, grabs a fistful of Brendon’s hair, and starts dragging him away, lips moving fast as he mutters or yells, Emily can’t tell over the music.

 

“I’ll be right back,” she says, standing, and she gets three feet before Alex DeLeon jumps into her line of vision, and she tries to excuse herself, but he puts a hand on her shoulder.

 

“I haven’t seen you in so long!  How are you?” he exclaims happily.

 

“I’m good.  What’re you doing here?” she asks, trying to placate him.

 

“Pete invited us.  He said he wanted to sign us, but he had to talk to the label about it.”

 

“That’s so cool!” Emily gushes, genuine this time, and Brendon slips from her mind as she talks to Alex.

 

It’s hours later when he finally returns to her train of thought, when Sierra comes running downstairs, looking on the verge of tears.

 

“Hey!” Emily calls, “We’re leaving, are you ready?”

 

“Emily,” she gasps, “You have to come here.”

 

“Did something happen?  Are you okay?”

 

“I don’t know what happened.  Just come here, please.”

 

Emily nods, following the younger girl back up the stairs, and she feels her heart drop as Sierra leads her to the bathroom.  There’s a figure curled up on the floor, dark hair damp against his forehead and body convulsing.

 

“Brendon,” she gasps, falling to her knees and pushing his hair out of his eyes, “Baby, what happened?”

 

He refuses to look at her, though as soon as she touches him, he flinches back.

 

“No,” he barely whispers, shaking his head, “Go.  Get out.”

 

“Bren, what happened?”

 

Emily reaches for him as he struggles to push himself up, but he snaps at her, “Get the fuck out.”

 

“Brendon!” she exclaims, “What the hell happened to you?”

 

She touches his shoulder, and his elbows bend again, head hanging, and there’s a split second of silence before he falls completely back to the floor and he let outs a broken sob.

 

“Sierra, get Spencer and Jon.  _Now_ ,” Emily orders when she doesn’t move right away.

 

The brunette hurries out, and Emily pulls Brendon against her, whispering softly to him, petting his hair, and rocking him back and forth.

 

“Please talk to me, darling,” she pleads, leaning down to kiss his burning forehead.

 

“Ryan,” is all he says, and she feels anger seep into her body, “Don’t.”

 

“Em?  Bren?”

 

Emily looks up to find Spencer, Jon right behind him, and she feels tears forming in her eyes.

 

“What ha—”

 

“Ryan,” Emily answers, and Spencer shuts his mouth and enters the bathroom, lifting Brendon out of Emily’s arms.

 

He cradles him like a baby, grunting under his weight as he lifts him, and Jon leads the way back down the stairs, Emily following.  A few people are still left over, and Bill jumps up as they come back downstairs.

 

“Dude, what happened?” he shouts, going over to them, “Is he okay?”

 

“I’ll let you know,” Spencer says, stepping around him and heading for the door.

 

The room is eerily silent as they leave.

 

“Yo, is that Urie?”

 

Emily’s gaze tilts to their car where Ryan is perched against it, Sierra standing closely to him.

 

“Yea, man, do you know what happened to him?  Emily found him like this,” Jon calls as they head over, and Emily sees red.

 

“Emily,” Brendon gasps, but she ignores him and reels her arm back, fist colliding with Ryan’s face.

 

He gives a shriek of surprise and pain, ducking another blow and covering his now bleeding nose.

 

“What the _fuck_ , you crazy bitch!” he screams, but he doesn’t get much else out as Emily digs her heel into his foot, and he howls.

 

“What did you do to him?” she screeches, sending a heavy fist to his stomach.

 

“Brendon!” Spencer shouts, nearly dropping him as the singer wriggles furiously in his arms.

 

“Let me go,” he demands, and Spencer practically collapses under his weight in his attempt to release Brendon.

 

His legs are like jello, and he’s in absolute agony, but he jumps between the two and shoves Ryan onto the ground, grabbing Emily’s wrists, and his knees give out a little.  Thankfully, Emily reacts quickly and grabs him before he sinks, though she nearly drops him when he turns his head and vomits.

 

He’s shaking and tears are streaming down his face, and he can’t breathe.  Brendon tries to speak, tries to beg Emily to stop, to just hold him, but his vision is fuzzy and everything is going black, and he can’t breathe.

 

\--

 

_Thursday, May third._

_2007._

After that fateful night in April, things got weird.  Emily went back to school the following Sunday, the twentysecond, and the band postponed their first few shows in May.

 

Brendon swallows audibly and knocks on Spencer’s door.  He hears a muffled come in, and he enters to find his friend hunched over his desk, scribbling something.

 

“Oh, hey Bren!” he exclaims as he looks up, “Everything okay?”

 

Brendon sighs, but nods anyway.  They’ve been acting so delicately around him lately, and, though he appreciates it, he just wants things to go back to normal.

 

“I want to go on with the tour and maybe even going back into the studio.  I don’t want to just ditch Panic.”

 

Spencer stares at him for a long time before crossing the room and stopping in front of him.

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?  It’s up to you.  No one is forcing you to do anything.”

 

“I know,” he nods, “But I want to tour.  I just… I want to talk, the four of us, before we go.”

 

“That sounds reasonable.”

 

“I want to call Jon, have him come over first, and then we’ll have Ry-Ryan,” he stutters, and he has trouble breathing for the briefest of seconds, “come over after.”

 

Spencer still catches the pause, though, and he frowns, pulling the smaller man into a hug.

 

“I’ll go call Jon.”

 

Brendon nods, and he’s still standing in Spencer’s doorway when the older man leaves.  He feels like crying, but he’s been doing too much of that lately.  He hasn’t talked to Emily in four days because she’s angrier than he’s ever seen her, because she just can’t understand why he would ever want to go near Ryan again, why he’s not pressing charges.  But he knows why, and it kills him to think that a small part of him still loves Ryan and he could never hurt him like that.  He just wants everything to be okay again, and he wants to go on tour, and he wants to forget about everything.

 

It was two hours before they gave Ryan a call, and he tentatively entered the house when Spencer answered the door, looking a little relieved but mostly distant and hostile.  Ryan follows him into the kitchen where Brendon and Jon are talking quietly amongst themselves, though Ryan instantly notices how Brendon stiffens and shrinks away when he enters the room.

 

There’s a really uncomfortable silence that falls when they’re sitting at the kitchen table, and Brendon is the first to break it.

 

“Ryan,” he begins slowly, not meeting the guitarist’s eyes, “I want to continue with the tour, but there—there has to be some rules this time around.”

 

Ryan nods; he deserves this.

 

“You’re not allowed in the passenger seat if Brendon is driving, and you can’t be on the same seat as him if you’re both in the two back seats of the van,” Spencer starts, allowing Brendon to breathe out a sigh of relief; he really hadn’t wanted to say everything.

 

“You’ll talk to him only if he’s near other people.  You are to _never_ catch him alone,” Jon goes on.

 

Ryan looks like he’s about to say something, but Brendon looks straight at him and opens his mouth, “Don’t ever kiss me again.  And don’t come near me onstage.”

 

It’s like a kick to the stomach, and Ryan looks down at his hands in his lap, and they’re shaking.  He deserves so much more than this.


	6. Chapter 6

_Wednesday, October seventeenth._

_2007._

It started to happen on tour.  The first instance was in July, after a solid two months of only seeing Ryan in the van or onstage, and he had begun to miss his company.  And then, one day he’d been excited about something, and Ryan was the first person he found.  They talked for an hour after that, about everything, legs dangling off the stage, while Spencer mucked around on the drums.  He’d been there already when Brendon and Ryan came to sit, and so he’d just stayed there to make sure nothing happened.

 

And now, sitting next to Ryan in the studio, Brendon can’t help but smile.  He’s _so_ happy to just be able to be friends and work on music with him again.  Spencer and Jon, at first, were wary, though Brendon has consistently assured them he can handle himself.  However, there is always that small flutter of worry whenever he’s around Ryan.

 

“I think you should lay down a vocal track for _Downpour_ ,” Brendon murmurs over drinks that night; it’s the first time he’s been able to convince Spencer and Jon to allow him out alone with Ryan.

 

“Really?  You think?”

 

“Yea, totally.  I just keep going back to that first time we played it together, and I think it would really tighten it up.”

 

Ryan shrugs, but he’s smiling.

 

When Brendon opens the door later that night, Spencer is still up, the TV on and his cell phone to his ear.

 

“I don’t know, Em,” he sighs, and Brendon freezes, frowning, “It doesn’t make sense to me either, but I trust him.”

 

Brendon closes the door, and Spencer looks over.

 

“Hey!  I was just talking to Emily.  She was looking for you.”

 

“Tell her I’ll call her in a couple minutes.”

 

Brendon heads for the bathroom first before going into his bedroom and dialing two, setting the phone on speaker while he undresses.

 

“How are you?” she asks softly.

 

“I’m good.  Ryan and I went out for drinks and talked about the new album and stuff.  It was pretty fun.”

 

“Did you go alone?”

 

Brendon pulls off his t-shirt before responding with a sigh, “Yea.  It was fine, though.  I think he understands what he did was wrong.”

 

“Wrong,” Emily scoffs, “He _raped_ you, Brendon.”

 

He flinches, “Yea, I know.  But I’m trying to forgive him, okay?  Why can’t you just let me be friends with him?”

 

“Because all he’s done is hurt you!  I’ve known him for just as long as you, and he’s never been anything but horrible to you!”

 

Her voice is cut off as Brendon slides the phone shut, and he chucks it onto his bed, furious.  It starts ringing almost a second later, and he picks it up, setting off.

 

“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is!” he shouts, “All we do is fight now, and it’s always about Ryan!  I’m trying to just live a normal life, Emily!  What’s so wrong with me wanting to move on?  Why can’t you just let it go?”

 

“He _RAPED_ you!  Did you _forget_ about that?  Has your thick fucking skull not been able to process that yet?  You’re so slow, Brendon!  God, he _hurt_ you, and you just want to move on?”

 

“Yes, I fucking do!  He’s my best friend, Emily!  He’s my guitarist!  My music means everything to me, and I’m not going to throw that away if I can fix our friendship!”

 

“YOU DON’T NEED TO FIX YOUR FRIENDSHIP WITH HIM!  HE FUCKING RAPED YOU!” she screams.

 

“I HEARD YOU!” he roars, and there’s silence.

 

“I don’t want to fight with you anymore,” he whispers, inhaling sharply as he hears Emily sniff.

 

“Good fucking job, then.”

 

And the line goes dead.

 

Brendon throws his phone at the wall, screaming, and he can already hear Spencer getting up as he staggers to his knees, arms wrapping around his head.

 

“Bren!” Spencer yells, trying to pull him toward him, “Bren, what happened?  What did she say?”

 

Brendon shoves Spencer away, and he storms from the room and right out of the house.  He’s only wearing jeans, and it’s October, and he’s freezing, but he’s definitely not going back.  His hands are curled into fists, and he runs as hard and fast as he can, trying to put as much distance between him and that goddamn phone as he can.  Finally, though, he slows to a walk and realizes he doesn’t know how to get home.  And so he keeps walking until a car pulls up alongside him and Ian Crawford from The Cab pokes his head out the window.

 

“What the fuck are you doing out here, Urie?”

 

He mutters something incomprehensible, and Ian sighs, stopping the car.

 

“Go get him,” he says to someone, and the passenger side door opens, and Brendon just keeps walking.

 

“Hey,” a sweet voice whispers, and a hand slides over his own, enveloping his fingers and making him feel warm, just for that instant.

 

He stops, and he turns, meeting the steady, soft blue-green-grey gaze of Alex DeLeon, frontman of The Cab, and one of the most beautiful men Brendon’s ever seen.  The first time Pete introduced them, he almost fell over.

 

“Let me take you back to my place, and you can get warm.”

 

He nods without thinking, and Alex leads him into the car, hopping into the back seat with him and draping his sweatshirt around his bare torso.  They don’t talk the whole ride, and Ian drops Alex off at his apartment where he leads Brendon inside and goes to grab blankets while the Panic singer sits on his couch.  He returns and wraps Brendon up before going to make him a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

 

“You wanna talk about why you were out with no shoes and no shirt in the middle of October, in the middle of the night?” Alex adds, arching an eyebrow and sitting next to him.

 

“Shit.  I had a fight with my girlfriend.”

 

“I didn’t even know you had one.  I thought you were seeing Ryan.”

 

Brendon chokes on his hot chocolate, and Alex takes to thumping him on the back until he calms.

 

“What gave you that idea?”

 

“There’s, like, _so much_ sexual tension pent up between the two of you, it’s ridiculous.  I mean, I’m no expert on being gay, but it’s not hard to see with you two.”

 

“You’re g-gay?” he stutters, turning his big brown eyes to Alex.

 

“No, just bi, kind of.  I’m curious.”

 

“You made out with Beckett?”

 

“Yea.  Everyone does, right?”

 

“Ryan slept with him.”

 

“Woah, really?  What about Gabe?”

 

“Ha.  Well.  He’s probably slept with Gabe, too.  Ryan’s kind of a slut.”

 

“Have _you_ slept with him?”

 

“Yes,” Brendon blurts out, and then instantly regrets it, but, oh well, he’s under, might as well drown, “Twice.  Well, three times, if you count the time he almost knocked me unconscious, pinned me to the floor, and essentially raped me.”

 

Alex’s mouth is hanging open.  Oh, this should be fun.

 

“I’ve topped all my life, mostly because the only person I’ve ever slept with that isn’t Emily is Ryan.  And Ryan never tops, but he did that one time.  And now I’m fighting with Emily about it because I’m trying to forgive and forget.”

 

“Woah, hold on.  Can we back up a little?”

 

“Sure.  What the fuck ever.  Where do you want to start?”

 

“When was the first time you slept with him?” Alex asks, leaning back, and Brendon mimics the movement; this feels good, to just let it all out.

 

“In ’04.  We were having our first band practice ever, before Jon had joined.  It was my first practice as I’d tried out the day before.  Rehearsal let out, and Spencer and Brent left, and Ryan took me into his room and let me fuck him.  I fell in love with him instantly, the second I first laid eyes on him.  You have to understand, I was only seventeen, and Ryan was tragically beautiful.  There was something so sad about him; there still _is_.

 

“But I loved Emily.  I’ll always love Emily, more than anything or anyone in the world, I’ll love and be in love with Emily.  And so, the second after I left Ryan’s, I went to her house, and I just broke down, and I told her everything.  A week later, she asked me out, officially.  We’ve been dating ever since.

 

“Except I fucked up early this year, in February.  It was Valentine’s Day, and Ryan and I were just hanging out, just talking, and he asked me to kiss him, and he looked so heartbroken.  One thing led to another, and he was blowing me in some small dark room.  I stopped him, said I was sorry, that I just couldn’t, that I loved Emily, that I never should have kissed him, and he was such a fucking prick.  He forced himself on me, _ordered_ me to fuck him, and I wanted to hurt him so bad.  He called Emily a bitch, and I just flipped out.”

 

“So you had sex with him?” Alex interrupts, but quickly quiets when Brendon shoots him a glare.

 

“I don’t know what it is about Ryan that draws me to him, that makes me fall so hard for him.  Emily gave me a second chance because she’s an angel like that.  She’s always been my angel.  She gave me a second chance, and Ryan and I kind of smoothed things out.  It was good for a while, and then there was that stupid fucking party at Saporta’s, and he kissed me and kept trying to pull me away, and I was so angry at him, and I just wanted to get to Emily, but he literally dragged me upstairs.  Took a fucking tuft of my hair and pulled me, and he slammed my head against the—” Brendon breaks off, breath hitching.

 

He’s never talked about this before.

 

“He slammed my head against the wall,” he continues, “and I could barely breathe.  I could hardly see; everything was turning black.  He threw me onto the floor and, well, you can insinuate the rest.  And, for some absurd reason, I want to forgive him.  Fuck if I know why, though.  I just love Ryan.  I really do.  And I don’t know how to let him go.”

 

Alex and Brendon sit in a silence for a long time before Alex sighs and turns his gaze to the troubled singer.

 

“I think you should do what you want, and if making things better with Ryan makes you happy, then do it.  But if losing Emily is going to destroy you, then you need to figure out something.  Maybe make a compromise with her.  Say that you’ll finish this record and tour a little, and you’ll see how things are at that point.  And then go from there.”

 

Brendon just stares at Alex for a few moments before nodding.

 

“Do you mind if I crash on your couch?  I don’t feel like calling Spencer to come get me.”

 

“Yea, it’s cool.”

 

“Thanks, Alex.”

 

“Glad I could help, Brendon.  I’ll be just down the hall if you need me.”

 

They exchange a quick embrace before Alex leaves, and Brendon feels good.  He thinks everything will be okay, everything will work out.

 

\--

 

_October eighteenth, 2007 – October twentyninth, 2008._

In the coming days, Brendon didn’t speak with Emily for a week until she finally called, and they never mentioned their argument.  He briefly brought up the idea of a compromise, but she just firmly stated that she didn’t care, that it was his life if he wanted to be friends with Ryan.  Their relationship started to strain a little, though winter break solidified their love for another.

 

 _Pretty. Odd._ , Panic’s sophomore album, was released in March, and Brendon posted a video of just himself and his guitar, serenading Emily with _Northern Downpour_ , the song he’d written for her.  He flew out to Maine a week later and spent a weekend with her.  On the Sunday he would leave, he proposed in the middle of the walkway, in front of all of her friends, and she said yes.

 

And, all of a sudden, Panic was really blowing up.  Their names were everywhere, and Emily could barely go through a class without someone asking her about them.  _Everyone_ knew who Brendon Urie was, and everyone knew that he was engaged to a one Emily Johnson.  And the fame brought the band so much closer, and their cracks disappeared.  They melded back into one, and Brendon fell.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thursday, October thirtieth._

_2008._

“The new video is premiering today,” Brendon says over the phone, it tucked between his shoulder and chin as he ties his shoes.

 

“Yea, you told me.  For _Northern Downpour_ , right?  I can’t wait to see it.”

 

“I like it.  So, what’re you up to?”

 

“Not too much,” Emily sighs, “I have class in a little bit.  I wrote a book poem today.”

 

“Cool, cool.  Email it to me?”

 

“Yea, sure.”

 

There’s a silence that falls that makes Brendon frown.  There are so many of these now, these uncomfortable silences, he’s not surprised they’re starting to fray around the edges.

 

“Well, I better go,” he finally says, and she sighs again.

 

“Okay, bye.”

 

“Bye.”

 

There’s a pause, and then she hangs up, and Brendon’s brow furrows as he pulls his phone away and stares at it, and then it clicks.  He presses two, and it rings and rings, and she doesn’t pick up.

 

“Hey, it’s Emily Johnson.  Leave some words, and I’ll write you a novel.”

 

“Emily,” he starts, and his voice cracks, “Em, I love you.”

 

And he hangs up before he cries.

 

\--

 

Brendon’s phone rings at six o’clock exactly, and he smiles as he sees Emily’s name.

 

“Hey baby, what’s up?” he greets cheerily.

 

“I’m done,” she whispers, voice shaky and full of tears, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

 

“What?”

 

His whole body goes cold, and his friends look to him.  They’re out to dinner for a small celebration, and they’ve only just ordered drinks and an appetizer.

 

“I watched the fucking video,” she snaps, and he winces, paling dramatically, “You wrote a song for me,” she pauses, seething, “and _Ryan sings in it_.”

 

“It sounds good with both of us,” he tries to reason, but she cuts through him, ice cold and choking on sorrow.

 

“You’re in love with him.  You always will be, and I’m sick of being second best.”

 

“Second best?” Brendon gasps, and he feels as though his throat is closing up, as though someone has reached into his chest and ripped open his lungs.

 

He can’t breathe.

 

“Emily, I love you,” he stumbles, and he feels numb.

 

“I know you do.  And I’ll always love you, but I can’t do this.  I can’t watch you fall so hard again and again for Ryan after all that he’s done.  I don’t _want_ to be with you anymore.”

 

Here her voice breaks, and Brendon’s chest is heaving and he can’t breathe, can’t see, and someone is yelling his name, but he’s dying.  He’s so sure of this.  He is definitely dying.

 

\--

 

Brendon wakes up with a tube up his nose.  A soft voice is murmuring nearby, and everything is dark around him.

 

“Emily?” he calls out, and then it all comes flooding back, and he chokes on her name, and there’s this loud, shrill sound that suddenly pierces the semi-silence.  Light floods around him, and people are yelling, and all he can hear is his heart pounding _so hard_.

 

\--

 

Someone groans.

 

His eyes are heavy, and his body feels numb and weightless.

 

“Brendon?”

 

Spencer.

 

“Is he waking up?”

 

Ryan.

 

“It wasn’t me who groaned.”

 

Jon.

 

Brendon smiles lightly, and he forces his eyes open.  His best friends are hovering over him, and Spencer gives a little squeal and squeezes him into a hug.  Jon mumbles something about getting the doctor, and Spencer leans back while Ryan sits next to him, holding his hand.

 

“Did she really leave?”

 

Spencer and Ryan just stare at him, and Brendon nods.  He knows.

 

\--

 

_Monday, November seventeenth._

_2008._

“URIE COMMA BRENDON HERE.  I THINK YOU SHOULD LEEAVE A MESSAGE, MAYBE.”

 

Pete just laughs before starting, “Hey Bden, it’s Wentz.  Just wanted to see if you wanted to come over and catch up, listen to the new tracks before we finalize them for reals and all.  Give me a buzz.”

 

He hasn’t seen Brendon in weeks, and it’s starting to scare him, especially since anyone he asks hasn’t seen him either.  He flips through his contacts again, and settles on Beckett.

 

“’Sup, stardom?”

 

“Not much.  You seen Urie lately?”

 

“Not since the party.”

 

The party.  Pete frowns at this.  No one really knew what happened, but everyone saw Emily try to kill Ryan outside, saw Brendon intervene and then collapse.  He’d watched it with wary eyes; Panic was starting to fall apart, and it killed him to watch it happen.

 

“Pete?”

 

“Sorry, I’m here.  Has Gabe heard from him?”

 

“No, not that he’s said.  You know, you’re the second person to ask me that recently.  You fancy a drive over to his place?  I think he’s staying with Spencer still.”

 

“Sure.  I’ll pick you up.”

 

Pete hangs up, and he’s riding along with Bill in no time, and they arrive at Spencer’s after trying to reach him the whole way there.  They go up and knock on the door, and someone shouts for them to come in, and they head in to find Spencer lounging on the couch.

 

“Beckett!  Wentz!  What’s up?  Come on in!” he exclaims, smiling and waving them over.

 

They take Spencer’s other couch, and Pete can’t find his words.  Brendon is lying on his side, red-rimmed eyes fixed on the TV, his head in Spencer’s lap, and Spencer just pretends like there’s nothing wrong.

 

“What brings you guys over?”

 

“We tried calling,” Bill says shakily, glancing over at Pete and then back at Brendon, “But the two of you didn’t answer.”

 

“Sorry.  I think my phone is in my bedroom, and Brendon’s, well,” he breaks off, gesturing to the wall where a tiny little pile of broken electronics lay, “Bren, I’ll be back in just a second, okay?”

 

Brendon sits up robotically, and Spencer gives his shoulder a little squeeze before shooting the two men a pointed look.  They follow him into the kitchen, where he instantly drops the façade and runs his hands through his hair in agitation.

 

“What is going on, Spence?” Pete demands, worry clear in his features.

 

“Emily broke up with him.  I haven’t heard him talk since _Northern Downpour_ premiered.”

 

“That was in October,” Pete mutters, shaking his head, “Where have you guys been?”

 

“She put him in the hospital.  He had a fucking panic attack like I’ve never seen when she told him she was leaving him, and the he woke up, and I guess he heard me talking on the phone and thought it was her, and he flipped out again.  They said he almost had a heart attack, and now he won’t speak.  The first two weeks, I had to force him to eat, but now he’s getting back into that.  I don’t know what to do.”

 

Pete and Bill exchange looks, and Pete just frowns.  He’s never seen Brendon so lifeless, and it’s terrifying.  Brendon, the most insane and wild person he knows, deadened and hollowed from the inside out.

 

\--

 

_Wednesday, April eighth._

_2009._

Spencer climbs over to where Jon is looking off the side of a cliff.  They’re in South Africa, and it’s one of their days off, so they’ve gone exploring.

 

“Have you seen Bren anywhere?” Spencer asks cautiously, lifting an eyebrow.

 

“He’s been over there for a little while,” Jon answers, pointing somewhere far off, and Spencer just thanks him before going off in the direction he’d pointed.

 

When he finally spots Brendon, he’s sitting toward the edge of a cliff, his knees pulled into his chest ([http://www.patdonline.com/gallery/displayimage.php?pid=18890&fullsize=1](http://www.patdonline.com/gallery/displayimage.php?pid=18890&fullsize=1)), and Spencer sighs, going to sit next to him.

 

“You wanna talk about it?”

 

“No,” Brendon hisses, turning his head away, but Spencer catches him wiping his sleeve across his eyes.

 

He’s been acting more and more like his old self lately, though Spencer can see how empty his eyes are all the time, and he hates how gone his best friend is.

 

“Bren, you’ll have to at some po—”

 

“Just leave it alone, Spencer,” he snaps, turning his head back, and Spencer frowns.

 

His hands are fisted now, resting on his knees, and his face is tired.  He just wishes he could help him.

 

\--

 

_Saturday, April eleventh._

_2009._

Brendon can see Spencer smiling out of the corner of his eye, and he knows it’s because he’s actually taking part in the conversation, actually offering himself up for human contact.

 

“Oh God, that time we were at the bowling alley,” Jon laughs, shoving Ryan, “That was awesome.”

 

“Oh, when he guttered four times in a row?” Brendon teases, smirking over at the guitarist, who just sticks his tongue out playfully, “You were absolutely wretched that day.”

 

“Yea.  Granted, Em served our asses on a golden platter.”

 

No one takes notice of what happens then except Spencer, and he immediately touches his gaze to Brendon, who stiffens at her name while Jon and Ryan just keep laughing and remembering.  Brendon shakes his head, blinking, and he turns away from the conversation, leaning his head against the airplane window.  Spencer frowns, and he wants to punch Jon.

 

“I’ve never seen someone look so hot in bowling shoes.  She rocked those things.”

 

“Remember when she did the knee slide and actually got a strike?  Lucky bitch.”

 

Brendon flinches, and he squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his forehead harder against the glass.  It’s been just over half a year, and he still feels like someone is twisting knives in his heart and squeezing it dry every single time someone mentions her.  Jon says something in response, but Brendon can’t hear him, and he nearly jumps out of his seat, pushing past them roughly and racing toward the bathroom where he sinks to the floor, forgetting to lock the door, and he slams his head into the wall, biting his lip ‘til it bleeds and breaking into shaking sobs.

 

\--

 

_Friday, April tenth._

_2009._

“Hey guys, what’re you watching?” Emily asks as she sits in the back of the lounge next to Katie.

 

“I’m not sure.  Hunter just turned it on.”

 

“Panic’s streaming live from their South Africa show.”

 

Katie and Emily both freeze, but Katie looks up first, staring at him in shock.

 

“ _Make some noise, Africa_!” a voice shouts on the TV screen, and Emily lifts her head, and she takes one look at the now screaming man, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and beautiful before sprinting from the room.

 

She bursts into her room, slamming the door behind her, and her heart is pounding in her chest as tears threaten to break from her eyes.  She can hear Katie behind her, but she just locks the door, shuts off the light, and sinks to her knees, sobbing.

 

\--

 

_Friday, September fourth._

_2009._

“God guys, this is our last year,” Katie says, swinging her arms around Emily and Hunter’s shoulders, “Can you even believe it?”

 

“It’s crazy, really,” Hunter shrugs, and Katie drops her arms as they approach Mallett Hall.

 

They enter to shrieking and someone shushing someone else, and they head back toward the backroom where the TV is located to find two of their friends, Chelsea and Ally, freaking out over some music video.

 

“Who is this?” Emily asks, but her question goes unanswered as Chelsea giggles something about being so excited.

 

She squints, however, as two men in black suits start walking forward, and then, not even thirty seconds into it, they come into full view, clear as anything, and the one on right starts singing.  She would be able to recognize his voice anywhere.  Emily feels as though she can’t breathe as it moves closer to his face, and Katie and Hunter are staring at her in shock and fear.

 

“Th-there’s only two of them,” she stutters, and her heart is beating too fast.

 

She feels faint, and she can’t find oxygen.

 

“Yea, didn’t you hear?  Ryan and Jon left.  I guess they had some big falling out.  I think it was an argument between Brendon and Ryan, personally.  People started saying they could hear them screaming at each other after shows all the time.”

 

Emily feels like she’s been punched in the stomach, but she can’t move.

 

He has sunglasses on, and she’s trying to pretend it isn’t really him, that the soothing, beautiful voice coming from the TV is ugly and crude, that she doesn’t know and miss just how soft his skin is, just how warm his touch is, just how sweet his kiss is.

 

It’s been almost two minutes into the song now, and Emily can feel her heart right against her ribcage, begging to be let out and held in his delicate hands, to be safe forever in his arms.

 

Oh God his eyes.

 

Emily just stops breathing altogether as he pulls off his sunglasses, and there he is, real and permanent, and this video will remain in her mind’s eye until she wants to just sleep forever.

 

The video ends, and everyone is silent because Chelsea and Ally have somehow caught on enough to realize something is wrong.

 

“Are you going to your room?” Katie asks as Emily stands, and her friend nods, robotic.

 

“Emily, are you okay?” Chelsea questions quietly.

 

“And that’s Panic! at the Disco’s new song.  Looks like frontman Brendon Urie is finally picking his feet back up again after split with ex-fiancé Emily Johnson,” the TV says, and Emily barely makes it into a run before she’s crying.


	8. Chapter 8

_Two years later._

_Friday, February fourth._

_2011.  
  
_

Brendon feels like he’s been hit with a brick.  He blinks as he listens to the door slam, and it occurs to him almost a second too late that he should go after her.  And so Brendon quickly jumps into his black hightop Converse, forgets lacing them, and he’s yanking his grey and white static t-shirt over his head as he sprints out of the room, his thick-rimmed black glasses sliding on his nose.

 

“EMILY!” he shouts, and a few people jump to the walls of the hallway as he approaches.

 

He throws on his grey vest when he reaches the door, and he slams through them as Spencer steps out of one of the rooms.

 

“Brendon?”

 

“EMILY!”

 

His voice rings out across the parking lot, and he watches her turn, red curls swinging over her shoulders, and tears making her eyes glassy.  A lump forms in his throat as he skips a step and jogs over to her, and everyone nearby is just watching, and Spencer definitely just opened the doors and is staring at him in disbelief, but he doesn’t care.  All he knows is the love of his life is _not_ going to leave again.

 

“Emily,” he says again as he finally reaches her, and she opens her  mouth to talk, but he just shakes his head, cups her jaw, and pulls her into a passionate, adoring kiss.

 

Brendon can barely breathe when they part, and he rests his forehead against Emily’s, still holding onto her.

 

“I got published,” is the first thing she says, and Brendon’s smile is so wide, it almost hurts; he knows what’s happening.

 

“I read it.  Six times.  It’s beautiful.  Ryan and Jon left.”

 

“Someone told me that, and I pretended that I didn’t care, but then I went in my room and cried because I knew how heartbroken you’d be.  I might be selling movie rights.”

 

“I hope Peter Jackson is directing it.  I wrote _Mona Lisa_ about you.”

 

“I love you,” she cracks, and her arms loop around his waist, pulling him close to her.

 

“I love you so much,” he mumbles into her hair, holding her tightly, and he can feel himself relaxing completely.

 

He’s at peace.

 

\--

 

They go out to dinner because Brendon hasn’t eaten all day, and Emily’s been sick to her stomach just planning out what she did.  Brendon talks to Spencer for all of five minutes, but he’s all a mixture of worry and joy when he hugs Brendon and tells him to hurry up and get his girl back.

 

Dinner lasts three hours, and they order everything from drinks to appetizers to main entrées to desserts, and they’re still talking when they’re finished with all of that.  It’s fluid and never ending, and Brendon is so anxious, and so is Emily, and they both know it.

 

“We have to talk about it,” Brendon says quietly when a silence finally falls over them.

 

He drops his gaze from her to scribble his signature on the bill, write in a tip, and get up to put his jacket on.  Emily follows at a slower pace, and he reaches for her jacket, slipping it on for her, a familiar movement.

 

“Can I ask you for a second chance?” Emily whispers, not meeting his gaze.

 

“Can we maybe just start fresh?  Pretend nothing ever happened?”

 

Brendon reaches forward and takes her hand, and it’s the touch that seals the deal.  She laces her fingers with his, and Brendon beams.

 

“Are you still living at Spencer’s?”

 

“Yea, though we hate living there, and we both want to move, but we have no initiative.”

 

“I, uh, I have a house.”

 

They’ve left the restaurant by now, and Brendon turns to her, mouth open in shock.

 

“Really?  Since when?”

 

“Well, the book got published in ’08, right after all that, and then I graduated in the spring of 2010 as planned, and it just got really huge, and I wanted to have a place of my own.  I was always crashing at Katie’s, but I missed it here.”

 

“I missed you here.”

  
“I want you to move in.”

 

“Okay.  When?”

 

Emily just laughs and leans over to kiss him before getting in as he’s opened the door to his car for her.

 

“Sleep over tonight,” she mumbles when he gets in, and he instantly nods.

 

“I have to call Spencer, but I would love to.  Emily, I… I’m sorry.  I just want to get that out in the open.  I want the air to be clear before we try this again.  We are trying again, right?”

 

“I just asked you to move in, so duh.  I mean, only if you want to, of course.  And I’m really sorry, too, Bren.  I am.”

 

“It’s okay.  Everything’s okay.  I love you.”

 

“I love you with all of my heart.”

 

And Brendon’s heart was finally fluttering the right kind of way.

 

\--

 

_Sunday, February twentieth._

_2011._

Emily goes to open the door, singing along softly with the blasting music in her house.  She disregards the peephole and is met with a box-laden Brendon.  He’s moving in today.  Even though they both asked Spencer if he wanted to move in, too, he steadfastly refused, saying that this was going to be the beginning of their lives.  And they knew he was right.

 

“Craig Owens?” Brendon asks as he enters, and Emily jumps a little when two little dogs come in after him, their leashes wrapped around his wrist and trailing behind him.

 

“Oh,” he notices her surprise, “I think I forgot to mention that.”

 

“It’s cool.  I have a cat.”

 

Brendon laughs at this before motioning toward the dogs, “Their names are Bogart and Penny Lane.”

 

“Of course they are.  They’re cute.”

 

Emily bends to say hello, and she’s giggling and petting them in no time.  William Beckett appears in the doorway, and Emily waves hello before showing the boys to her room where they’ll put all of Brendon’s things for now before they organize them.  It’s not a ridiculous house, though it certainly isn’t small.  There are two floors, an attic, and a basement, and Brendon loves it here.

 

Through the large front door is an open floor with a large staircase built into the wall to the right.  Three steps descend into a beautiful and spacious living room while a gargantuan kitchen sits behind it.  A door at the back corner leads to a winding staircase that erupts into the basement where the laundry necessities and a furnished, smaller living room sit.  Up the foyer-like staircase is a hallway with four doors that lead to a master bedroom attached to a master bedroom, two guest rooms, and a regular bathroom.

 

There is a spiral staircase at the very end of the hallway, and Brendon has only been in the attic once, though he finds it amazing.  A built-in shelf lines the east and west wall while a glass wall takes up the north wall, looking out onto the gorgeous backyard.  A desk sits off to the side, and two armchairs and loveseat are placed around the rest of the room.  The view from the north wall is of a large in-ground pool and luscious green grass.

 

“Em, your house is insane,” William compliments an hour later when they’re done moving Brendon’s things in and are sitting at the long island in the kitchen, eating sandwiches and chips for lunch.

 

“Thank you.  I did a lot of renovating in the attic and the basement, but everything else was here.”

 

“Very cool.  Well, I think this is the eighth or something text Gabe has sent that I’ve left unanswered, so I better head out.  It’s so good to have you back, Emily.”

 

William kisses her on the cheek, hugs Brendon, and leaves the reunited couple alone.  And they fall right into conversation, and it’s _so easy_.

 

\--

 

_Monday, February twentyfirst._

_2011._

Emily wakes up with a flutter of eyelashes, and she instantly smiles.  Brendon’s soft, sleeping face is turned toward her, and she reaches over to shut off her alarm clock before it goes off.  When she faces him again, she can’t help but want to touch him, to make sure he’s real.

 

His skin is baby smooth, and his big brown eyes move under his thick-lashed eyelids in reaction to her tracing his features.  She touches his mouth with her thumb, smiling.  She’s always loved how full his lips are and how soft and inviting they look and are.  When she lifts her eyes back to his, he’s looking at her, warm eyes heavy with sleep.  She leans forward to kiss him, just a small, good morning kiss, and he hums in happiness.

 

“Emily,” he whispers, reaching up a finger to push a curl away from her face, “Can I make love to you?”

 

Emily simply smiles and kisses him.

 

\--

 

Emily leaves around noon to meet Katie at Panera Bread for lunch, though it’s only when they’re sitting that Katie sighs and starts talking.

 

“Em, you have to know that I kept what I’m about to tell you a secret because I was trying to save you from getting hurt.”

 

Emily waits, keeping her expression unreadable.

 

“But now that you and Brendon are back together, well, uhm… Blake and I are dating,” she rushes out, looking worried.

 

Emily sighs and nods.  She should have expected this.  She never really thought Katie would drop Sierra and Blake, and she knew that Blake and Katie liked one another.

 

“It’s okay, Katie.  Stop looking like I’m going to bite your head off.  Tell me about him.”

 

Katie looks so relieved, and she goes off, revealing their hidden friendship and eventually relationship.  They talk about Brendon, too, and everything that Emily is feeling about their new situation.  Overall, she couldn’t be happier.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Craig Mabbitt appearance in this scene? You know it, :D
> 
> 1Also, putting this footnote at the beginning of this scene because, well, whatever. Everything you read after the first time this little footnote number appears is copyrighted and mine. I’ve taken the entire context of the conversation concerning Emily’s book work from my actual novel. So, I ask that you just take it with a grain of salt (in the not understanding factor) and do not copy or use anything you read. Thank you!

_Saturday, July ninth._

_2011._

Emily is lounging in a white lawn chair in a red and white polka-dotted bikini while Brendon swims vigorous laps.  Blue and yellow square _ish_ sunglasses hide her eyes, though they flick across the edits she received that morning on her second book.  She turns a page as Brendon turns underwater and rockets off toward the other side of the pool.  He surfaces finally when Emily turns yet another page.  She looks up as he sets his arms on the edge of the pool, head bent and panting.

 

“You’re so out of shape,” she laughs, and he turns his smirk up to her.

 

“Come swim with me.  I’ll race you.”

 

“Pfft, like you could win,” she scoffs, dog-earing her page before ditching her sunglasses and heading toward him, tying her curls back in a ponytail.

 

They do a quick four laps, and Brendon’s left waiting for Emily to surface after him.

 

“Fucker,” she grumbles, pushing him when she finally reaches the end of her last lap.

 

“I was on the swim team,” he reminds, sticking out his tongue.

 

His attention is stolen, however, as his phone rings, and he goes over to the corner of the pool where he tossed his phone, and picks it up, answering without looking at the caller ID.

 

“God, I only got your voicemail, like, six times before you finally picked up.”

 

Brendon freezes, his whole body tense, and he scowls before answering, “What the fuck do you want, Ross?”

 

“Jon and I had this stellar idea.  I saw that you guys just finished your Vices tour, and we thought it might be fun to kick it old school and support one another as cos.”

 

“I’d rather dig your grave.”

 

“You know, it might be fun for the fans, too.  They can see us all together, and it’ll be a nice throw back.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Brendon hangs up, and he jumps when Emily’s hand touches his shoulder; he’d forgotten she was there.

 

“Is everything okay?  Who was that?” she asks quietly, and she sounds worried.

 

“It was no one.”

 

And Brendon kicks away from her, hell bent on forgetting his voice.

 

He’s never told Emily why Ryan and Jon left, never told her all the shit that went down, all the shit that they kept to themselves and promised to never tell the world.  Ryan had begged him for hours to just keep quiet about it, to never ruin him.  He just wanted to move on, and he would leave the band and not bother Brendon anymore.

 

Brendon sighs after a few more laps, pulling himself up out of the pool.  Emily is back with her edits, so Brendon takes it upon himself to distract her.  She laughs a little as he starts kissing all around her arms, chest, and neck before finally settling for a little kiss on the side of her mouth.

 

“Mm, Bren,” she says, patting his shoulder, “I’m going to a show tonight.  I totally forgot to tell you.  D’you wanna come?”

 

“Who’s playing?” he asks, nuzzling her jaw.

 

“Escape and Roach.”

 

“Ooh, totally.  When are we leaving?”

 

“At three.  The show is an hour away, and it starts at seven.”

 

“Three hours early?” he scoffs, and Emily just shakes her head and kisses him.

 

“Look, Mr. Famous, some of us peasants actually have to wait in lines.”

 

“Mr. Famous,” he grumbles, smirking, “You’re kind of everything, in case you hadn’t noticed.  You know that, right?  Like, _everyone_ has read your book or is freaking about your upcoming movie.  You’re essentially Rowling meets Tolkien.”

 

“Rowling is richer.  C’mon, I’m hungry.”

 

Brendon lets her up, and they go inside where Emily cooks grilled cheese and tomato soup while Brendon thumbs through her edits.

 

“Oh my God!” he suddenly shrieks, covering it with his hands, and Emily turns, arching an eyebrow and smirking at his closed eyes.

 

“Zredier1 _dies_?” he gasps, staring at her, “For real?”

 

“So doesn’t Amos.”

 

Brendon lets out a hearty groan and drops his head.

 

“How does Zredier die?” he mumbles through his arms.

 

“In battle.  They attack Kav’gnarc the same time the elves march to Üshenbän.  Both good parties win, but Zredier is bested in a battle against Maël.”

 

“What?” Brendon exclaims, looking up at Emily, “Wait, is Oisín at Kav'gnarc?”

 

“Oh no.  Treyan refuses him.  He doesn’t fight until Razendōŭme when he dies, but that’s in the third book.”

 

Brendon groans again, dropping his head once more, and Emily just chuckles as she reaches for her ringing blackberry.

 

“Hey Rex, what’s up?”

 

“’Lo, Emily.  Just wanted to let you know we’ve settled the rest of the dates.”

 

“Cool, cool.  Did you manage to work them around Panic’s tour dates?”

 

“Yup, everything is set.  Since they spread things out a little, any problems that may have arisen have been eliminated.  I also talked to the bus company that they use like you asked, and we’re all set to split cost.”

 

“Excellent.  Can you hold on a second?”

 

“Sure.  Go ahead.”

 

“Bren, can you get the bowls and drinks?  And stop reading.  It’s not done yet.”

 

Brendon smirks as she snatches the book away before going to set up everything while Emily sits before her edits and puts her phone to her ear again.

 

“Kellie sent me the edits.  It’s looking food so far, though.  I will need to argue over a few things, of course, but otherwise.”

 

“The Treyan/Amos scene?”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

Rex laughs, and Emily smiles, “It’s a good scene, and it totally sets up the god book.  Thanks, babe,” she adds to Brendon as he places food and drink in front of her.

 

He sits down to her right, sliding her book back to him, and she just sighs, smirking.

 

“So, other than your convoluted relationships, is everything else good?”

 

“Oh yea.  I’m only a quarter way through, but I’ve agreed with most everything.  That, and she doesn’t have _nearly_ as many harsh edits this time.”

 

“Awesome.  Well, I’ll let you go.  I just wanted to update you.  And we’re conferencing with Kellie and Leo in a week?”

 

“I should definitely be done by then.  Also, I have a show tonight, so if you need me, I may be unavailable, but I will have my phone.”

 

“Right now.  Alright, see you soon.”

 

Emily bids him goodbye before turning her gaze to the enraptured Brendon.  She laughs before lifting a grilled cheese to her mouth.  When she finally finished her edits in ’06 on the first book and started sending out queries, she expected to be out of college and in an office job before she ever got signed and published.  And so it came as a shock two years later, when all was going to shit in her life, that she got a positive response from one of her top choices.  It had been hard, though, as she progressed through meeting and becoming familiar with her agent, Rex, finding a house and editors, Kellie and Leo, and, ultimately, taking the world by storm, hard because she had no Brendon to hold her hand along the way and kiss her nerves away.  He knew what fame was, he knew how to deal with rejection, and she was forced to face everything without him.

 

There had been so many times, late at night or too early in the morning, when the world was dark and sleeping, that she stared at his name in her contacts, so many times she wanted to forgive him and ask for a second chance.  It was only in February, when she’d dared listen to _Mona Lisa_ , when she’d finally conquered her lack of self-esteem and was comfortable with herself and the spotlight, that she realized all those sleepless nights, broken tears, and angry internal battles were shouting for him, and she finally accepted that she loved and needed him.

 

“Em?  You okay?” Brendon breaks through her thoughts, touching her hand delicately.

 

“Yea,” she smiles at him, “I’m just thinking about us.  I’m glad there _is_ an us again.”

 

“Me too, angel.”

 

Brendon leans over to kiss her before going back to his food.

 

Three o’clock creeps up on them before long, and Emily is jogging downstairs as Brendon finishes up.  She’s dressed in tight zebra-print skinnies, pants she’s worn to every Escape the Fate show since Max Green first got his, a [fitted black vneck](http://new.merchnow.com/products/120476) that says KILL OR BE KILLED on it in weird, scratchy-looking grey font.  It’s old, from one of the first Electric Zombie lines, and it’s a little torn and stretched on the shoulders, though Emily loves it.  Black Doc Martens adorn her feet, laced up over her pants, and her waist-length red curls are pulled back in a loose ponytail.

 

“Brendon, come on!” she calls up the stairs as she pulls on a fitted black leather jacket.

 

“Coming!” he yells as their door closes and he appears at the top of the stairs.

 

Emily grins up at him, “ _Someone_ is looking mighty fine.”

 

“Oh yea, I’m a sexy motherfucker.”

 

Emily just laughs before they exit into the garage and into her black 2009 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1.  Brendon has light and tight ripped jeans on, purple and red hightop Converse, and a white vneck that says EXIST in thin, spindly black writing at the top and a weird design below it.  A loose red, Fall Out Boy sweatshirt with a bear on the front is zipped halfway, and his dark hair is messy and short, and Emily love sit.  He dons aviators as Emily puts on signature blue and yellow sunglasses.  They blast Escape and Papa Roach the whole way there, though they can’t help but laugh as they pull up to an already gathering line and people stare.

 

“It gets better,” Emily says with a smirk as she lets the top rise once they’re parked, “One of the shows I went to after they announced the making of _The Ascension_ , I was nearly mobbed.”

 

They’re just heading toward the line when Emily’s phone rings, and she stops Brendon on the sidewalk across from the line.

 

“I’ll explain in a second,” she promises before answering, “Hey, what’s up?”

 

“So we were catching a super early dinner at Mickey’s when Max’s jaw dropped.”

 

“He saw my kickass car?”

 

“Yea, and your kickass boyfriend.  Hang out in line, and I’ll come find you.’

 

“Superb.  You’re the greatest.”

 

She hangs up, and they’re just getting in line, ignoring blatant stares when Emily starts, and she shocks Brendon, “After we split and the book got published, there was an Escape show in Bangor.  I hung out after because, get this, Craig started following my twitter, and he DM’d me saying he’d read my book and was _so_ in love with it and that he was wondering if I’d be at the show because he heard I was going to school in Maine.  We got to talking after the show, and we exchanged numbers and emails.  I dunno, we just kind of hit it off and became really good friends.  He helped me a lot during those three years, and I’ve been hanging out with them and going to as many shows as I could since then.”

 

“So… you’re essentially becoming Pete?”

 

Emily laughs, loud and without a care, and Brendon can’t help but smile at how beautiful she is.  They chatter back and forth about this and that until they hear a few excited screams and then Craig Mabbitt comes into view.  Emily pulls Brendon out of line, and Craig envelops her in a tight hug before turning to Brendon and clapping hands with him, shaking hello.

 

“It’s good to finally meet you, man.  I’ve heard a lot of good things,” he says, though Brendon catches the slightly protective lean toward Emily, and he sighs.

 

He deserves this, though it still hurts to know that he snapped Emily’s heart and he has to prove his worth.

 

“You too.  And hey, thanks.  For taking care of her.”

 

Craig smiles, and Brendon knows it’s genuine, knows he’s gained at least some brownie points.  They head toward the doors, and Craig gets them through where he leads them backstage, past some opening band doing sound check.

 

“Black Veil Brides?” Emily gasps as they go by, touching Craig’s arm; her other hand is wound with Brendon’s.

 

“I didn’t know they were opening!” she continues excitedly, and Craig laughs, nodding.

 

“Yea, I got in touch with their frontman, Andy, a little while back, and I mentioned touring with Roach and having them open, and he was so stoked about it.  They’re really cool kids.”

 

“I love them.  Oh, this should definitely be a fun night.”

 

Emily’s prediction proved true.  Brendon had never before been to a concert with her.  Granted, she’d been to a hundred and one Panic shows, but he’d never really seen her in the crowd and lost to the music.  She knew every single word to every single song _every single band played_ , and Brendon couldn’t help but be amazed by her.

 

They’re just relaxing against the stage after BVB is done with their set, and Brendon kisses Emily sweetly, smiling widely.

 

“You’re really hot at shows,” he murmurs, and Emily smirks before reaching up to undo her ponytail.

 

“Yea, why’s that?”

 

“You just let loose.  Do you do this at Panic shows, too?”

 

“I do this at _every_ show.  Music is an escape for me just like it is for you, just in different ways.”

 

Brendon just grins.

 

“So, you’re bringing Rex and Katie on tour, right?”

 

“Yea.  That’s okay?  I don’t have to bring Katie, but what with Versa opening for you guys, I thought it would be nice for her to not be so far from Blake.”

 

“She’s dating Blake?”

 

Emily nods, looking ecstatic.  They’re cut off from further conversation, however, as the lights go down, and Brendon just grins and presses a kiss to Emily’s cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUPER LONG FANTASTIC CHAPTER FOR YA, HAVE FUN.


End file.
